


Face of Innocence

by FaerieChild



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), London Spy
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 03:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5231396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaerieChild/pseuds/FaerieChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During difficult times, James Bond retreats to the Mediterranean island of Corsica and the home built for his late wife Theresa di Vicenzo. Onto his private beach stumbles a young man who is clearly a lost soul. Both have known loss, both know what it is to feel alone and in that first moment, something nameless sparks between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Face of Innocence

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Face of Innocence](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/155723) by lethal-desires. 



> lethal-desires on tumblr did a beautiful gifset that I really wanted there to be a fic for. I asked if I could write something and got a positive response, so here it is. Both of these works are also inspired by the series London Spy currently showing on BBC 1. There is also a few tiny references to other works. Kudos to anyone who can pick them out!

_Corsica, The Mediterranean Sea._

 

It was morning. Bond had been up all night. First working, then drinking. He had arrived in Corsica at around two in the morning via a yacht and the little rowing boat that had taken him from the next cove over to the sandy beach that lay under the magnificent white palace of Marc-Ange Draco.

 

Bond had inherited the place through Tracey who had been given it by her father in the vain hope that she might like to have a quiet life in a quiet place by the sea. A grand, modernist house on the coast; all white walls and glass. A private balcony with a private staircase cut down the cliffs to a private beach. A swimming pool and sun terrace out the back with a pretty hedge around it. Local stone tiled the patio and walled in the terraces around the grounds. Cyprus cedar trees and tall spiking evergreens sheltered the perfectly kept lawns of the garden from the scrub beyond.

 

The Med was blue, a sort of greenish-blue that had to be seen to be believed and the salt in the air was mild and warm and the breeze gentle and caressing.

 

As leader of the Unione Corse, James Bond's father in law had the wealth and the clout to have such a place built but Tracey had never appreciated her father's attempts to save her from herself and the place was all but untouched since it had been built. After her death Tracey's father had insisted he had no use for the place and James, a widower before he had even been able to enjoy marriage, used it as a bolt-hole when he needed to hide away from the world, his employer and everyone else. There was a little rowing boat pulled up onto the beach which would take him to the yacht quietly moored in the next cove over.

 

The sea was calm, the sun was warm and put life back into his body and soothed his soul. James Bond stood on the balcony and breathed in the fresh air and closed his eyes, letting the heat of the sun brush his eyelids and ease through his tired muscles. He stretched, feeling the tension leave his body. He needed this. Just a day or two, before going back. A book, a drink and a day in the sun. But that would be tomorrow. Today, tonight, he needed something good to eat. Some fresh seafood for dinner – he'd ask Paolo the gardener to bring him something from the fishermen in the village. Ham and cheese and fresh fruit for lunch. Breakfast – eggs. Bond smiled to himself. Eggs and coffee and fresh orange juice.

 

Already the sun was risen in the sky, that moment that was just past dawn and not yet morning where the air still carried a pinkish glow and world was still awakening. Another couple of hours and the cool stone under his feet would heat and Bond thought he might go down and have a swim in the sea.

 

James Bond stood on the balcony in bare feet, the epic expanse of blue sky and green sea reflected in the glass behind him. He squinted at the brightness of the sun on the glistening surface of the calm sea that reached out before before him and in the vast expanse of glittering water and white sand, James Bond's eyes zoned in on the lone dark figure of a man trekking over the rocks about a half mile along the coast that separated his little idyll from the next cove over with it's marina and it's fishing village and the yacht that connected him to the rest of the world. Climbing over those rocks was a boy. A teenager, perhaps. Someone young. The young man was clamboring over them with his coat held closed as if he was either shielding something or was very cold and given the weather and the time of year the latter seemed rather unlikely. It was odd, on such a warm day, to see someone wearing such heavy clothes.

 

James wondered what was under the coat. Maybe he was local and this October weather was rather cool for him, but even the gardener and his wife were only calling it sweater weather.

 

The coat had garnered his interest and along with it, the person wearing it.

 

Bond gazed with curiosity as the figure came closer, trying to figure out who he was and what he was doing there. From his vantage point on the balcony at the top of the cliffs he could hear the sea and the wind then blew towards him would have carried any sound the boy might make but he was silent and Bond wondered if he should worry. Was this some sort of inept assassin? Some innocent sent to lure him in? Surely not a lost local, in spite of the coat, for there was not a man or woman on the island who would willfully cross the land of or Marc-Ange Draco without his permission.

 

No, if anything he looked...lost. The way he trekked hunched over. The way he held his jacket closed around him. The way he paused and looked around in confusion and then continued trekking. Eventually he got to the middle of the beach and crouched down, looking out to sea. On a spur of the moment Bond rattled down the cliff-face stairs with a quick trot and a nimble foot. The boy looked surprised, alarmed, to see another human being. Crouching down as he was, wide green eyes turned from the sea to James's body and spread over his muscles. The boy took in the horrendously expensive cut and fabric of his shirt, the assertive and self-assured eyes and Bond saw the moment that the boy in no uncertain terms realised who was in the position of authority here.

 

The boys stood up slowly, turning and Bond realised he was less of a boy and more of a man. A lithe young man with the false appearance of youth because of his slight figure and the way he held himself but a man none the less.

 

“I'm sorry, I...” the young man's words trailed off as he looked at Bond properly for the first time. He stared and words failed him.

 

Bond stared right back. British. English. Not local after all. A tourist?

 

“I'm sorry, do you live here? I think I'm lost,” The young man finally said. His look was not one of pleading, it was the look of someone alone, who was always alone, who was looking for what they should do next and didn't know how to deal when an actual person was presented before them. “I don't mean to intrude.”

 

“You look lost.”

 

“Thank you. I mean, not thank you. Not _thank you_ , thank you just – thank you.”

 

Bond bit back a smile.

 

“I think I'm still high.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“I was at the club. The club in the town across...” The boy waved off randomly into the interior, “Wherever and I suddenly – do you ever have this moment, have you ever thought, all off a sudden and out of the blue, 'what the hell am I doing with my life?' There I was in the club, three am, pissed out of my mind, high as a kite and I suddenly realised my life is completely empty. I came here on holiday with some friends and now I wonder what we're actually doing? To be perfectly honest I never want to see them again in my life. All we do is get drunk and get high. I was pissed out of my mind and the only thing I could think was that none of these people had any concern whether I live or die. These are men for whom I'm just a body. And I had this moment of realisation and I walked out and I left. Does that make any sense?”

 

Bond let the words fall between them. The sea wooshed as it rode in over the sand. It was on its way in, high tide in an hour or so. “What's under the coat?”

 

“Nothing.” The response was too-innocent. The boy had the face of innocence, but his eyes were too sharp.

 

“Drugs? Guns?”

 

“No.” The boy's eyes sparkled brightly. Mischievously.

 

Bond considered the tattered threads of a supposed drunken man's story. There was a club, Bond remembered, at a tourist resort a few miles away. Marc-Ange made a hefty profit on it.

 

“What time is it?”

 

Bond checked his watch, “Seven.”

 

The boy winced. “I've been out here for four hours! But then I was rather lost. And I did stop for a doze under a very kind Italian pine tree that agreed to let me-”

 

“Lad,” Bond spoke again, “What's under the coat? And what were you doing on the rocks?”

 

There was something assertive about the tone, something unfriendly, something unwelcoming that inferred rather heavily the boy should come up with a good explanation or go. He wavered, his eyes doing a dance as thoughts ran through his mind. “Herding cats,” He finally declared.

 

“Come again?”

 

“You promise you won't say anything?”

 

Bond rolled his eyes. There was something slightly eccentric about the boy. Well, a young man really. His eyes moved too much, he was too much on edge, he bristled under his skin. Maybe he was high. “I promise.”

 

The coat moved aside and two tiny, furred, mewling heads poked out. The winced against the sun and squealed in protest. It was a sound like the keening of a circling bird of prey, high and carrying.

 

“I left the bar and just kept walking. Don't ask me why, I couldn't tell you. I just had to walk, had to keep going. I couldn't go back, couldn't turn back, couldn't face them. After a while it got light and I started hearing the sea. I found a main road. I thought I should try to find somewhere to rest and I saw I was coming down to a fishing village when I happened upon a man with a bucket of water and a lot of screeching.”

 

Bond looked surprised.

 

“Well I took them off his hands.”

 

“You stole them.”

 

“Liberated them,” The boy smiled, “But there was a little bit of a tustle and the little mites got away. I saw them run into the rocks and I ran after them. I'm already completely lost, why not get a bit more so? By the time I'd caught them I couldn't see the village and I couldn't see the way back. Then I saw the beach and here I am. I was...herding cats.” The boy's eyes twinkled. “So now I'm lost, high, hungry, desperate for a piss and three hours away from a terrible hangover with two pets I can't keep or feed. But at least we've got each other. Isn't that how it goes? Do you think I'll be allowed to take them back as hand luggage?”

 

“Doubtful.”

 

“Hmm...” The boy paused on this thought for a moment and then shrugged the thought away, his mind changing like quicksilver. “What about you?”

 

“What about me?”

 

“What are you doing here?” He asked it casually, as if they had met by happenstance on a street corner in London and slightly knew each other. The lad shifted, rolled his shoulders, couldn't keep still.

 

“You're not high, you're in withdrawal,” Bond informed him. Bond stared at the young man hard until the other gave up, dropped the kittens and went to pick up a pebble. The kittens were investigating Bond's feet. The boy was skimming pebbles and as he cast the rock into the sea the jacket that initially looked slightly too big showed a breadth in his shoulders that surprised Bond. This was the slim, lithe body of unblemished youth and the face of innocence. In some unspeakable way, Bond was entranced. Completely entranced. Those dancing eyes, the comedy drunk, the kittens, the fact that he'd just walked Forrest-Gump-style out the door and never turned back just because. “I'm avoiding,” Bond spoke.

 

The young man bent down for another pebble. “Avoiding? Avoiding what? Pardon me for saying so but you don't look like you need to avoid very much. Not with that shirt. It must have cost half as much as I make in a year. Can't you just pay people off? Me, I need to avoid my landlord in London for spending the month's rent on a holiday. I'm so poor I can't even afford holiday clothes, do you know that? I came to Corsica in a bloody coat!”

 

“Maybe if you didn't spent so much money on drugs...”

 

“I never told you I spend money on drugs. I do people favours.”

 

“Sexual favours?”

 

“Computer favours. Security stuff. Coding, that sort of thing. It's a knack I have. I do a bit on the side between shift at my shitty minimum wage job.”

 

“You couldn't do it for a living?”

 

“No qualifications. Didn't finish school. Wrong crowd. Wrong council estate. Wrong...everything really. Only gay in the school. I tried to kill myself once.”

 

“I try everyday.”

 

“Do you? I wouldn't recommend it.” The boy stopped and turned around. “So, what are you avoiding? I've poured my heart out. Now it's your turn.”

 

“You never said anything about your heart,” Bond pointed out.

 

“I'm not sure I have one.” The boy shrugged.

 

Bond tilted his head. It was an odd and rather desolate thing to say for someone so young.

 

“I keep hoping...you watch the films and you read the books and the world keeps telling you there's this thing called love and you're supposed to feel it and you just need to wait for it and it will come. So you wait for it and you wait for it but it never comes and if it does come it leaves again before you can grasp it and you're left with this empty place inside you, which other people fill with love but love doesn't seem to be meant for you and it starts eating you, this empty place, from the inside out. I can't bear it myself.”

 

Bond lowered himself down to the sand and hugged his legs, watching the ephemeral figure who was casting pebbles out to sea, lost and still half-drunk and withdrawing from whatever he'd taken as his drug of choice in the club. This complete stranger who had just explained to Bond his entire life.

 

“And the drugs?”

 

“They help. Sometimes. They make you forget. Forget how lonely you are.” The boy paused and turned around, casually dropping his hands into his coat pockets. “Do you always have heart-to-hearts with strangers? Not that you did much talking.”

 

“No. But I thought I should make an exception. After all, you are my guest, though uninvited; considering how you have managed to trespass into my private beach.”

 

“What? Oh! I’m… uh… I’m so sorry; I didn’t…”

 

“Hey! Hey… It’s alright.”

 

“I very much doubt that.”

 

Beside him, a kitten was coming to investigate Bond's toes. One of them licked him and Bond picked it up, taking the sorry little thing into his lap where it licked hopefully at one of his fingers with its tiny rasping tongue. “I’m glad you walked in here.”

 

“Really? Most people think I'm a bit odd.” The boy smiled that sort of quirky half-smile where his lips tugged at the corners and his eyes twinkled and Bond closed his eyes as his heart skipped a beat at the sight of his smile. No, this wasn't supposed to happen. He'd only just lost Tracy. Bond opened his eyes again and there he was, sparkling green eyes and unruly hair and a humour and a wit in his expression that toyed with Bond and poked at him.

 

“Let's have breakfast,” Bond declared.

 

“What, here?”

 

Bond took the lad in. This young man he didn't know, this person he felt drawn to. He wanted to reach out to him. Wanted to kiss him. Wanted to lie naked and hold him. Bond didn't believe in love at first sight but as he turned away and made his way up the stairs his heart ached with every step that took him away from this stranger.

 

At length a scrambling, mewling was followed with the fleeting light-footed run of a young man wrestling unruly kittens. “But you don't even know my name! I don't know your name!”

 

“What's your name then?” Bond asked. He kept walking; he smiled. The boy was following.

 

“Quinn,” The boy said, still wrestling with the kittens.

 

When the got to the top Bond stopped, turned around and took the little things by the scruff of the neck. They quietened immediately and looked up at James expectantly.

 

“Breakfast?” James asked mildly.

 

“I'm totally skint.”

 

“My treat.”

 

“Alright then.”

 

Bond nodded and stepped inside the house, kittens in hand. “I'm reliably informed it’s a bit greasy.”

 

“Breakfast?”

 

“Cat.”

 

A moment of confusion and then horror coloured Quinn's features before he gathered himself enough to run after James. The man had gone in through a door in the massive glass wall and straight into the kitchen.

 

“What? No!” Quinn gave chase, skidding to a halt in time to snatch up the kittens protectively from James Bond. “What sort of horrible man are you? I am leaving. Now. With Nibbles and Nibbins.”

 

“I was going to go with Thomson and Thompson myself,” Bond replied. He took out a large frying pan and put it on the cooker then filled and boiled the kettle.” He started pulling eggs and cheese out of the refrigerator. “Two eggs or three?”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Omelette, Quinn. Breakfast. Two eggs or three?”

 

Quinn stared between the kittens and Bond. It took him a long moment to realise he'd been played.

 

Bond's eyes held the suppressed mirth that only a good practical joke could reveal. “What did you think I was going to do?”

 

“I hate you, do you know that?”

 

“You don't even know me.”

 

“I know that I hate you. You're probably in league with the man who tried to drown them, aren't you?”

 

“Probably.” Bond felt Quinn's eyes on him and smirked. “The name's Bond. James Bond.”

 

“And you own this place?” Quinn asked incredulously. Now that he wasn't distracted by his host's fake attempts to boil the kittens, Quinn had time to look around him and was at once utterly enraptured by the evident expense of everything within sight. The house was large, tall-ceilinged and open plan. It stood fronting onto the sea and Q could see straight through the glass wall at the back of the house into the grounds at the back. There was a large patio with swimming pool and sun loungers beyond which lay an expanse of perfectly manicured lawn and evergreen pines. Everything was modern, open plan, designed and expensive. Q looked over the television and music system in the far corner and cursed. “Jesus Christ!”

 

“It's just money, Quinn.”

 

“Just money?” Quinn's eyes boggled. That television alone would cost him the best part of a year's wages.

 

“It was my wife's. I'd rather have her than the house but I suppose we can't always get what we want.” Bond said this while intently staring at the frying pan and watching the omelette didn't burn.

 

Q wondered at the turn of phrase. Past tense. “Divorced?”

 

“Widowed.”

 

Quinn felt like an absolute curr. He tried to apologise but the words came out of his mouth wrong and James waved it off. Quinn could only stand and stare at this man, James, as he cooked them both breakfast and laid it outside with fresh coffee and orange juice. They ate their omelettes on the terrace with hot toast lathered in warm melted butter and afterwards picked at a large plate of ripe melon and ham. They enjoyed the sun and the company and said almost nothing. Quinn thought he was rather beautiful. Strong, muscular, a protective yet lethal air about him. Swiftly he reminded himself of the dead wife and that he was straight. There was no point going looking for trouble. If some rich tosser felt like feeding him up who was he to argue?

 

Towards the end of the meal James became very quiet and thoughtful. Grateful for having been fed, Quinn suggested that maybe he should go before the worst of his hangover hit. If James could just point him in the right direction...?

 

James instead led Quinn up to his bedroom and Quinn was so confused by his intentions that they were at the threshold of the bedroom door before Quinn even realised what was happening.

 

“But you're straight! You were married.”

 

“Bi,” James corrected. He nudged a finger under Quinn's chin and then they were kissing and undressing and then making love. Naked and writhing their bodies moved together until they were exhausted and sated and lay in bed side by side, Quinn lying against Bond's side and they slept. Some time in the afternoon Bond got up for a shower and checked Quinn's coat for a wallet. He made a phonecall to Tanner, reluctantly checking in for the sake of background check on the young man still asleep on the bed. Tanner told him something that made James look at him again in a new light.

 

Bond was outside by the pool catching the afternoon sunn by the time his guest emerged. By his side lay two full, sated kittens. Quinn wondered what James had fed them.

 

“Careful, Quinn. They just relieved themselves all over the kitchen. They're not litter trained yet.”

 

“Charming. So, I'd best be going.”

 

“Stay for dinner.”

 

“I haven't trespassed on your property long enough?”

 

“I thought you enjoyed yourself,” James said. His eyes held a hesitation.

 

“I did,” Quinn insisted. “I had a lovely time.”

 

“Well then?”

 

“Well then what?” Quinn pushed.

 

“Some place better to be?” James asked. “I enjoy your company, Quinn. Stay a while.”

 

Quinn looked around the ridiculous garden as he considered this. He knew nothing about James. He was rich, evidently. Probably had connections. He could be anyone from a banker to a mafia boss to a business tycoon. James had offered scant detail and Quinn had the sense not to ask. Still, it wasn't everyday some rich bloke picked you up as his toy boy.

 

James looked at Quinn, a question in his eyes.

 

“Ok,” Quinn dumped the coat. “I didn't want to go back anyway.”

 

They went skinny dipping in the ocean as the afternoon wore on. Quinn's hangover felt awful but not as awful as he would have felt if not for the painkillers and orange juice James had pushed in his direction. Dinner was grilled fish, cooked outside on the barbeque, fresh caught that afternoon from a fisherman up the road. The kittens got some as a treat and then James walked over to the living room, picked up a laptop and handed it to his guest.

 

Quinn looked up at James.

 

“You said you dabble with computers.”

 

“A bit...” Quinn looked at the top of the range, expensive piece of kit with a high degree of scepticism.

 

“I'd like you to look over the security measures on this and give me your assessment.”

 

“I dabble, James.”

 

“Passwords, firewalls, the basics. It’s a work laptop. I don't have much faith in it but I only know the basics. I'd appreciate a second opinion.”

 

With his belly still full of delicious fresh fish, Quinn was a bit uncomfortable sitting down so he laid it on the kitchen worktop and his fingers moved to the keys. James put on some coffee for himself and made tea for his guest as Quinn worked. Quinn liked earl grey and Bond had had some brought in with the groceries for dinner. Whenever he was here Marc-Ange put his own men at Bond's disposal and Bond found to his surprise they could mostly be trusted. Marc-Ange ran a tight ship.

 

After a while, Quinn sighed heavily and stopped. “Well, it has its strengths and it has its faults. Ostensibly it’s a good system. Linux, adaptable, android compatible. Firewalls are half-decent and it will keep out your regular crap but it’s snakes and ladders. I can't do a comprehensive assessment like this but there's too many loopholes and back doors. You'll keep out the automated stuff but any human with a half decent system and strong intentions will be a problem.”

 

“You think you can do better?”

 

Quinn looked embarrassed. “I didn't mean...I'm sure you pay your people a lot of money and they studied at very good universities to do what they do. I didn't mean...it’s great. Really.”

 

James heard the false cheer in his voice. “You think it’s rubbish?”

 

“It has room for improvement. Is that diplomatic enough for you? Yes, I've written a few things that would be useful but I can't do much more here without my own kit. I should probably go back to the hotel for my laptop, anyway. I'm worried something might happen to it.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“It might be stolen, for one. It’s the only thing I own worth any money. I heard a rumour the hotel I'm staying at is connected to the local mafia.”

 

“It won't be stolen,” James assured him.

 

“How do you know?”

 

“Because the head of that mafia is my father-in-law. You'll keep your laptop.”

 

“You're a criminal!”

 

“No, he's my father-in-law not my employer.”

 

“Dare I ask who _is_ your employer?”

 

“I work for a company called International Exports.” James Bond replied.

 

Quinn's spine straightened.

 

“I see you've heard of it.”

 

Quinn walked straight out the room, down the stairs and onto the beach.

 

From the house Bond watched him cast pebbles into the sea. He was running out of pebbles, it was a very sandy beach. Slowly, Bond followed him. He waited while Quinn threw the pebble in his hand and then there was silence between them and only the sound of the waves on the shore lapping at their thoughts.

 

“You're a hacker,” Bond told him. “And you're a good hacker. We've had world-renowned companies look at our system and tell us it's flawless. Yet you say there are ways in.”

 

“They call me Trinity.”

 

Bond slid his hands into his pockets. His head perked up.

 

“Online, that's my name. That's what I'm known as. I'm known as Trinity. In hacking circles. And offline, no one calls me Quinn. I made that up. Everyone calls me Danny.”

 

Bond nodded. "Daniel Holt."

 

The young man's head snapped up, demanding. "How did you know that?"

 

"Your wallet."

 

Danny blinked.

 

Bond shrugged. "While you were sleeping."

 

Danny watched Bond carefully and then when James said nothing more Danny nodded and turned away. He was made. What more was there to say? “I wasn't lying you know. I have no qualifications and these days unless you have a certificate proving you can press the on button and use microsoft office you can't get a job. I left school with three GCSE's. Too much time on my laptop and too little time studying.”

 

James shifted his stance. He didn't want to be affected by the vulnerability in the young man's voice as much as he was. “Danny...”

 

Danny examined the pebble in his hand. “Just tell me one thing. How is it I'm on an island in the middle of nowhere, pissed and high as a kite and my life's falling apart around me and I stumble straight into the one man in a hundred miles who will have me neck-deep in my own shit before I even know where I am.”

 

“You're not in trouble.”

 

“Well, you say that. I suppose you've called them.”

 

“I have.”

 

“Are you going to kill me?”

 

“No.”

 

“Torture me?”

 

“No.”

 

“Eat me?”

 

“Doubtful. Thomson and Thompson would never forgive me.”

 

It was sunset now. The sun setting over the Mediterranean Sea had to be one of the most beautiful sights James had ever witnessed. It was a scene of which he would never tire. Whenever life got a bit too much, missions got a bit rough, he sought out places like this. A beach, a drink and a sunset. It was the little things in the end that soothed the soul and made life if not worthwhile then at the very least a little more bearable.

 

“We are not calling them Thomson and Thompson!” Danny insisted.

 

Bond smirked a lethal smirk but inside his heart warmed. Danny had said 'we', he had banded the two of them together. He looked down at the ground to hide his eyes until he had himself under control and then looked up at the horizon. “So...a bit of computer stuff on the side?”

 

“Hey, I'm good but I'm not a magician! Hacking's fun but it doesn't always pay the rent.”

 

“Apparently your job doesn't either.”

 

“It's a job,” Danny snapped. “God knows I've tried, James I have really fucking tried. It isn't easy when...when you grew up where I did, like I did, dealing with...everything...”

 

“How'd you like to work for Her Majesty?”

 

“Is this some sort of joke?”

 

“If you treat all your job offers as a joke I can see why you're having so much trouble.”

 

“I came to you as a drunk, drugged up, trespassing runaway with stolen property, rent arrears and two more mouths to feed and if you’ve done what you say you’ve done you’ll know that me and The Establishment aren’t exactly the best of friends, for obvious reasons. And your suggestion is that I be employed by people who probably want my hide for their living room floor?”

 

“I'm a suicidal alcoholic assassin. You're in good company.” Bond lowered himself down to sit on the sand. Down the beach waves lapped on the shore, gently making their way in.

 

“How do you even know who I am? How do I know you have the authority to offer me anything, James?”

 

“I gave your name to my handler. He ran it through and was contacted by GCHQ. You're a British citizen. Talented. Good at hiding. You write your own programmes. You've been probing our systems and those of others but have never attacked.”

 

Danny lowered himself down to sit beside James. “I suppose you know all about Alex?”

 

“We’ve all lost people, Danny. Besides, it’s water under the bridge, now. There are bigger fish to fry. You find weaknesses and flag them. You are believed to have loose links to Anonymous but prefer to work alone. You have a history of attacking hypocrisy and corruption and are believed to have helped other hackers who hold similar views. You're good at concealing your tracks. Our information on your real name was a suspicion we couldn't prove based on a GCHQ record of Daniel Holt's internet use at a local library.”

 

“Had to learn coding somewhere, didn’t I?”

 

Danny walked towards James and stood at his side, staring off at the horizon where the sun was setting. He let out a sigh and collapsed onto the sand, too weary to run. “Are you going to kill me if I say no?”

 

“No, but you have to understand, the news that Trinity is Daniel Holt is going to be big news. Now that we know who you are we cannot allow anyone else to access you either. There are others who would like to use what you have.”

 

“And so they told you to make me an offer?”

 

“Something like that.”

 

“Was that before or after we slept together?” Danny looked down his feet. His words were muffled but James was close enough that he could hear them in the quiet of the evening.

 

“After. I thought you were just a lost soul, like me.”

 

Daniel Holt looked sideways at James Bond. “You have a thing for lost souls?”

 

James was quiet. He should know better by now than to give away such personal information. Information about weaknesses. Likes and dislikes. “Maybe it’s a coincidence.”

 

“I don't believe in coincidence. I don't know, James, it’s a big decision. Maybe I should go back to my hotel...” Danny draped an arm over his knee and stared off into the distance.

 

Bond watched him. “You could stay and think about it.”

 

“What's the pay like?”

 

“Better than you've got now, not as good as it should be.”

 

“Is it dangerous?”

 

“Frequently.”

 

Danny hummed.

 

“We need fighters, Danny. We’ve never faced a threat like this. It's ethereal, ever-changing. Like quicksilver. It’s everywhere and nowhere. We need people we can trust. We need people who are sharp. We need people who can help. Most of all, we need people who have the sheer bloody-mindedness to never give up.”

 

“Oh, what the hell, my life's completely screwed anyway.”

 

“Was that a yes?”

 

Danny's eyes smiled. “Do you know,” He said quietly, “I think it might have been.”

 

James nodded. The toes of his bare feet curled into the sand. “I have to go back in three days. I'm to bring you with me.”

 

“I'll need to serve out my notice,” Danny winced.

 

“We'll sort that.”

 

“I need to have access to my own hardware and software. I've built it myself and it’s completely unique. It can't be bought or replaced by anyone except me and I can't do what I do without it. I need you to understand that.”

 

“Done.”

 

“I...I can bring the cats into work?”

 

“Fine.”

 

Danny blinked. “Can you give me a million dollars?”

 

“No.”

 

“Pity.”

 

“But I can wager you'll be paid enough to put a roof over your head.”

 

“Well,” Danny smiled softly. “That's something, I suppose.”

 

James's heart warmed.

 

“Jesus Christ! I've just been head-hunted by the bloody-” Danny looked sideways at James and then burst out into giggles that made James smile.

 

“Yes, you have and until we get the paperwork sorted I'm under strict instructions not to let you out of my sight.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Mmm,” Bond hummed. “We'll have to eat together...sleep together...”

 

“How unfortunate,” Danny commented and shuffled a little closer. So close that their arms touched and he was able to nudge James just by leaning into him a little. When James didn't move away Danny reached up and touched a hand to James's cheek. James turned his head and leaned down and they kissed softly. “I'm sure we'll manage to figure something out.”

 

James's hands went wandering.

 

Danny nipped that in the bud fairly quickly. “Hands above the belt, James. We should probably go back in, I don't think Thomson and Thompson should be left on their own.”

 

“I thought you said we weren't calling them Thomson and Thompson?”

 

“It’s not the names I object to, James. It’s the racist, misogynistic premise of the comics.” Danny dismissed James. “But maybe you like that sort of thing? Travelling the world, doing what you want, believing you’re superior to everyone?”

 

James Bond ignored the barbs. Fifteen miles across a still, calm sea the sun was setting. The sea breeze off the land whispered silent things in their hair and James Bond felt his heart squeeze as he looked at the young man at his side. “Her name was Theresa,” He told the sunset. “I knew her as Tracey.”

 

“You loved her.”

 

“Very much.”

 

They were silent for a long time, watching the sun descend lower and lower in the sky as Apollo raced towards the day’s end.

 

“James...do you believe in love at first sight?”

 

“No. Why should I? It makes absolutely no sense that you could see a complete stranger for the first time and feel your heart flip. To be drawn to them in ways you can’t explain when you don’t even know their name.”

 

“No. No, I suppose not.” Danny looked sideways at James. “It might be nice though. To know that that’s still possible. That no matter how lonely you are, that someone out there might understand.” Danny shrugged and then tilted his head to smile at James. A hand reached out and brushed against the back of James’s fingers. "I do. Cause I’m a hopeless romantic, me.”

 

A shudder went through Bond. “Danny…”

 

“Do you always have heart-to-heart with strangers? Well, not that you did much talking.”

 

“No. But I thought I should make an exception. After all, you are my guest, though uninvited; considering how you have managed to trespass into my private beach.”

 

“What? Oh! I’m… uh… I’m so sorry; I didn’t…” Q repeated his words from earlier, a joking laugh in his voice as he dramatically play acted his own behaviour from earlier.

 

Bond found himself chuckling and then shook his head. “It’s alright. I’m glad you walked in here. And… I was hoping you will again.”

 

Grinning, Danny turned to watch the sunset. At his side, one of the most lethal agents ever to live sat peacefully at a stranger's side and watched the night fall, the fading of the light, the deepening blue of the sky and the sparkling diamond of the stars coming out. Orange faded to yellow and pink and then died as the sun sank below the sea and darkness descended. A warm balmy evening, just the rustle of the Mediterranean breeze in the fronds of the palm trees and cedars. The mewling of the kittens in the kitchen. Then soft whooshing of waves lapping on the shore.

_“Do not go gentle into that good night._

_Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> The quote at the end is from a poem of the same name by the Welsh poet Dylan Thomas.


End file.
